


Tug of War

by romanticalgirl



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 11:46:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I raise my white flag for you</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tug of War

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://hackthis.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://hackthis.livejournal.com/)**hackthis** for the beta. Um, this...turned out to be something different than I expected. Sorry?
> 
> Originally posted 8-16-09

Brad has a high bullshit tolerance. The Marines taught him well, but even he has a limit, which is why he walks out of the tech conference even before the first speaker is halfway through his warm up. It’s clear that this isn’t what he was looking for, and so he heads to the hotel bar and orders something to make up the difference. He settles at a table, picking up one of the conference provided pens someone left lying on it.

“You too?” The guy sits across from Brad, his own drink held loosely in his hand. He nods toward the door to the conference room and then toasts Brad with his glass. “Mark Evans.”

“Brad Colbert.”

“Colbert.” Mark pauses, closing his eyes for a moment. “You’re with Kemper, right? R&D?”

“Something like that, yeah.” Brad takes a drink and eyes him evenly. Mark’s got dark hair that’s a shade too long, slightly unkempt. His face is unlined except when he smiles, laugh lines darkening the corners of his eyes. His mouth quirks at the corners, as though it’s perpetually on the verge of a smile. “And you’re with IBM.”

“Yes, but you don’t have to say it like _that_.” He taps his nametag, laughing as he leans back in his chair. “We’re not all evil.”

“No, that’s Microsoft.” Brad smirks and relaxes slightly, playing with the pen for a moment, before opening it and sketching on his napkin. It’s almost doodling, except it always seems to be something, so he doesn’t try to stop it. Mark has the decency not to look, though Brad can tell there’s interest there.

Mark brings up the latest gadgetry hitting the talk circuit of the hardware and software worlds, and Brad falls easily into the debate. It’s more enlightening and entertaining than the seminar his company paid far too much money for, but given that Brad only came out to the east coast for it at all is because the hotel is thirty miles from Nate’s house, so he figures they’re getting what they paid for just as much as he is.

He doesn’t realize how much time has passed until Mark says something about dinner, and he notices the din in the hallways outside, over-excited tech-geeks confused by their sudden social situation. He glances at his watch and his eyes widen. Three hours have gone by and he’s barely noticed, too caught up in Mark’s same skewed view of the world that got Brad through life in the Corps. It’s unnerving to realize it, even worse to realize he’s now running late. He’s about to beg off dinner, excuse himself when a hand settles on his shoulder and he looks up at Nate.

“I’ve been in the lobby for twenty minutes. I should have known you’d be here hiding.”

“Not hiding. Networking.” Brad smiles up at him, exercising his restraint to keep his hands to himself. “You want a drink?”

Nate starts to say something, interrupted when Mark starts speaking. “Are you going to say hi at all, Nate?”

Nate’s head snaps up, his gaze going from Brad to Mark and he stops, caught somewhere mid-smile. “Mark?”

“So you _do_ remember me.”

“As if I could forget.” Nate laughs and moves to Mark’s side of the table as Mark stands. Their hug is nothing close to awkward. Brad stiffens in his chair and downs the rest of his drink, watching as Nate settles into the chair between them. “It’s been ages.”

“Ages? Really?” Mark smiles and Brad wants to stab him with his Ka-Bar, wants to gut him like a fucking fish and leave him out in the sun to stink and draw flies, grow maggots. “It hasn’t been _that_ long.”

“It’s been a while.” Nate smiles and then flushes, turning his attention back to Brad. “You guys know each other?”

“Kindred spirits,” Mark says. “Hiding from the social awkwardness of having to pretend we like people when we’d rather be playing with our electronic toys.” Mark drains the last of his beer. “We were talking about dinner. I take it you two are friends? Maybe you could join us?”

“I’d like that.” Nate looks at Brad, smiling widely. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Brad manages to grit his teeth and smile back. “Not at all.”

“I’ll get the check.” Mark stands up and goes to the bar. Brad watches him, listening to Nate talking, his voice lilting with amusement. Brad’s sure the story’s funny as hell, but it stars Mark, so he has no desire to hear it. Brad doesn’t say anything, just listens, fighting down the urge to grab Nate and run when Mark rejoins them. “You still like Ethiopian food, Nate?”

“ _Yes_.” Nate groans a little and Brad closes his hand around the handle of his computer bag. “I haven’t had it since…well, since the last time we went.”

“Ages ago.” Mark laughs and looks at Brad. “What about you? Do you like Ethiopian?”

“Actually, I’m not really hungry.” Brad fully intends to tell him that he doesn’t, that he and Nate have plans, that he made a _reservation_ , but instead fucking passive-aggressive bullshit comes out. Something inside him aches, spoiling and turning sour in his stomach. He hasn’t been this fucking polite since the last time he saw his ex-fiancée. “Why don’t you guys go on ahead.”

“Come on, Brad.” Nate’s eyes are lethal, pleading, but Brad’s fairly certain if he spends anymore time in their combined company, some one’s going to end up in a lot of pain. He’s just not sure if it’s going to be his emotional pain or Mark’s physical pain.

“I’ll catch up with you later. I’ve got some work to do.” He nods at Mark, well aware of the slow smile Mark’s holding back, waiting to turn it on Nate. “It was nice to meet you.”

“We’ve got three more days of this. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

Brad bares his teeth in an approximation of a smile. “You guys have fun.”

**

Brad’s sprawled out on the bed in his hotel room, dressed in nothing but his boxer-briefs. He’s twenty minutes into the worst porn he’s ever seen. It’s doing absolutely nothing to distract him, and it certainly doesn’t keep him from looking over at his phone, waiting for the fucking thing to ring. The fact that it doesn’t should tell him something, but he’s not quite ready to look at it all that closely. Which means he can’t get it out of his mind.

He knows Nate dated before they ran into each other again at a symposium Tom Ricks had held. Objectively, he knows Nate had probably fucked a guy or two. As much as he’d like to think all of Nate’s skill is just natural talent, sucking cock is something that takes effort to perfect, and Nate’s pretty fucking perfect at it. Which logically means that there were other cocks before Brad’s.

 _Mark’s cock_.

Brad has a good imagination – it comes in handy when dreaming up the next, big thing in the computer world. It doesn’t help, however, when his…when _Nate_ is off with some guy who’s obviously seen him naked. More than once. And the porn soundtrack doesn’t make it hard to picture it. Mark’s head falling back, his eyes closed, his mouth open as Nate sucks him, making him groan.

Brad hurls the remote across the room, shattering the TV screen. It hisses and sparks, cathode ray breaking and steaming fine powder into the air. “ _Fuck_.” It’s supposed to be a curse, but instead it comes out more like some kind of plea.

He flops back down onto the bed and stares up at the ceiling. After a few minutes, he rubs his hands over his face and then sits up, wondering how much the TV is going to cost him. He gets off the bed and sheds his clothes, moving into the bathroom and turning the water up as hot as he can get it. It doesn’t have the kind of power he likes in his spray, but the showerhead is actually high enough for him, so he’ll take what he can get.

He stays under the water until his skin is pink and sensitive, shutting it off finally when the hot water runs out. He dries off, biting back the hint of pain that comes from the way he’s too rough with the towel. He wraps it around his waist before walking back into the bedroom.

“I happen to know for a fact that you like Ethiopian food.”

Brad doesn’t miss a stride as he heads for his suitcase, digging out a clean t-shirt. “You guys have fun?”

“It was nice to see him again, yeah. Nice to catch up.” He can see Nate’s glance go to the TV. “It’s too bad you were otherwise occupied. It would have been nice if you’d been there.”

“Really?” He cocks an eyebrow up, but he doesn’t look at Nate. He looks past him, staring at the obliterated TV as well. He doesn’t directly challenge Nate, even though he knows he’s being a dick. He just can’t quite find it in him to care. “I would have thought I’d have been in the way.”

“The way of _what_?” Nate pushes off the door where he’s been leaning and stalks over to the bed, grabbing Brad’s arm and turning him to face him. “The way of what, Brad?”

“You guys.”

“I’m relatively certain that we could have talked just fine with you there. In fact, I think the conversation could have benefited from your sarcasm and intelligence and your…what else? Oh, yeah. Your _passive-aggressive bullshit_.” Nate tightens his grip on Brad’s bicep and Brad has to will himself not to tense up, not to respond. Nate’s voice is clipped but curious, dangerously soft. “What the fuck is this, Brad?”

“My arm, sir.”

“Don’t,” Nate warns, shaking his head. His green eyes are hot with anger, his face set and cool. “Don’t make a fucking joke of this.”

“I’m not joking, Nate.” Brad pries Nate’s fingers from his arm and moves a few steps away. “You guys hadn’t seen each other in a while, so I thought I’d let you catch up.”

“You thought you’d get out of the way so we could fuck if we wanted.” Brad forgets sometimes that Nate sees him so clearly, forgets that Nate knows him better than almost anyone. “You’re going to have to tell me, Brad: is it me you think so little of or just yourself?”

“Pardon me?” He can hear the tension in his voice, ratcheted up to match the sudden stillness in his body. The cool hotel room air is attacking his over-sensitized skin, and the look Nate gives him rakes like claws down his back.

“You got screwed over and fucked up. I get that. I do. I’d feel really bad about it, except I’m kind of glad she isn’t in your life anymore, because then you wouldn’t be in mine. Only she’s _not_ out of your life, because all you think about the minute you might get close to someone is when they’re going to fuck you over, when they’re going to hurt you. So you draw back, you hold yourself out of it just enough that you’re never really in it, so you can walk away whenever you want.”

Brad’s jaw tightens and he pulls his shirt on, blocking Nate’s look for a moment. He can’t bear to see the hurt etched on Nate’s features, the disappointment in his expressive eyes. He knows he’s proving Nate’s point about drawing away, but that doesn’t keep him from doing it.

“We’ve been together almost two years now.” Nate’s voice has gone conversational, but everything still shows in his eyes. “It hasn’t been ideal – you in California and me here in Boston, but I thought…I don’t know, Brad. I thought it was good.”

Brad hones in Nate’s words. On a single word. “Was?” is like a razor blade on his tongue.

“Well, apparently, I’m wrong.” One of Nate’s shoulders lifts and then drops back down. “Not about it being good. It is good. It’s _always_ good. But it’s obviously not what I thought it was.”

Brad frowns, watching Nate carefully. “What did you think it was?” His voice nearly breaks on the last word, but he manages to hold himself together.

“I thought it was more than just fucking.” Nate rubs his hand over his mouth and then drops it, exhaling roughly. “I know you can’t change how you react to what she did to you. I know you think love is bullshit, and the rest of us are idiots for wanting it, for thinking it even exists. For thinking maybe that’s what this was.” Nate looks at Brad, his green eyes as bright and cutting as glass. “Not everyone wants to hurt you, Brad.”

“So don’t.” He swallows, his throat thick and scratchy, his voice as rough as Godfather’s after a day of fucking them all over. “Don’t leave. Don’t…” His voice breaks now and he has to clear his throat to finish. “Don’t walk out.”

“Give me a reason to stay. Give me _one_ reason that I should hang around and watch you berate yourself, think you’re not worthy of this, of me. Do you even think I’m anything special?”

“You are.” Brad’s words are choked, his entire body cold and numb, dying a little inside with every breath he can’t manage to get out of his lungs.

“You thought I was going to jump into bed with my ex tonight. You and I have very different definitions of ‘special’ apparently.” Nate shakes his head. “I can’t do it, Brad. I can love you, but I can’t make you love me, and I sure as fuck can’t make you love yourself. So I’m going to go home, and you can add another story to the collection, tell people that I didn’t care about you enough, that I wasn’t willing to try enough. Tell them whatever you need to to make it work for you - just so long as _you_ know that I _do_ care enough, I _am_ willing to try, but you have to fucking meet me halfway, and you’re so stuck in the past, there’s no way you can move forward.”

“Please.” The word’s barely more than a whisper. “Please don’t go.” Brad takes a step forward, gesturing futilely into the space between them. “I couldn’t have let you go with him if I’d thought, if I’d really thought you’d fuck him.” Brad swallows and shakes his head. It’s a lie, and Nate knows it as well as he does. He was testing Nate, and Nate passed with flying colors.

He, on the other hand, failed miserably.

“I’m sorry, Nate. I shouldn’t have. I…I trust you. With my life, with…with everything.” He clears his throat and swallows, clears it again. “I’m fucked up. I know that. _I’m_ fucked up, but I trust _you_.” He shakes his head, words failing him. “Don’t go, Nate.”

Nate exhales, the breath stuttering out of him. “You’re a danger to yourself and the world around you.”

“No. That’s Ray.”

Nate smiles a little bit and walks over to him, standing just out of reach. “I can’t change what she did to you, but if you _do_ trust me, I can promise it won’t ever happen again.”

“Because there’s no way in hell you’d run off with Ray?” The joke falls flat, but it manages to let Brad breathe, let him unclench just enough to almost smile. He aches everywhere, for himself for having to go through this and for Nate for getting dragged along for the ride.

Nate’s mouth curves slightly, but it’s not really a smile. He reaches out for Brad’s hand and tugs him toward the bed, settling down on it. He tugs on Brad’s hand, and Brad settles in the vee of Nate’s legs, his back to Nate’s chest and Nate’s arms tight around him. “Shut up, Brad.”

“But…”

“Brad.” Nate kisses Brad’s temple, tightening his arms and holding him close, close enough that Brad can almost believe he’ll never let him go. “Really. Shut up.”

Brad lets his breathing sync with Nate’s, closing his eyes as Nate's breath fans across the top of his head. “I can explain about the TV.”

“Does it have anything to do with an espresso maker?”

“No. Just really bad porn.”

“No need to go on,” Nate assures him, kissing the curve of Brad’s ear. “There’s nothing worse than bad porn.”  



End file.
